My Dangerous Duke (3 page)

She barely knew what to do with herself. She had never been looked at this way by a man—inspected, nay, devoured.

Warrington’s glance flicked down from her still-damp hair to her stockinged feet, assessing her from top to bottom; then, to her surprise, he stared, hard, into her eyes—but only for a moment.

In that fleeting instant, she was not sure what she read in his penetrating gaze, other than a chilling degree of intelligence, like a man in the midst of a chess game.

“The gift is, er, acceptable, Your Grace?” Caleb ventured in a delicate tone.

The duke flashed a dangerous smile more potent than the laudanum.

“We’ll soon find out,” he said. Never taking his stare off her, he nodded to his silent guardsmen. “Put her in my chamber.”

Chapter 2

K
ate gasped as two of his black-clad guards took ate gasped as two of his black-clad guards took her from the smugglers’ hold. She struggled to free her arms, scowling in woozy defiance. Damn and blast!

“Let go of me!” Her angry words came out slightly slurred.

“Is there a problem?” the duke demanded, glancing back in irritation.

“No, sir,” the guard on her right answered rather sheepishly as he gripped her elbow again.

“Don’t touch me!” Kate yanked away and nearly lost her balance. Steadying herself, she whirled to meet Warrington’s gaze with a curse for him on the tip of her tongue like a dart.

“Go upstairs and wait for me,” he ordered her.

Kate stopped, taken off guard by the velvet undertones in his deep voice. She forgot her anger for a heartbeat, arrested by the promise of pleasure in his smoky eyes; she stood motionless, staring at him but disoriented when the drug swept her up in its most disturbing side effect yet.

Attraction.
Arousal.

A fatal fascination with him gripped her. He was beautiful, undeniably, but an utter mystery to her. One she suddenly desired to solve, obsessed as she had always been with finding hidden answers. An impetuous hunger to taste his lips stormed through her blood. As if outside herself, she saw, of course, this was the maddest possible reaction.

She couldn’t seem to control it. Dear God, the devilish tincture would almost make her eager for her own ravishment. How humiliating!

At the same time, the satisfaction in his eyes, as if he was thoroughly used to being wanted by women, his air of towering pride, awoke the slumbering fighter within her.

How dare he have this effect on me?

Who did he think he was, the big arrogant brute? A rush of bracing anger slammed her back to her senses, but as she shook off the strange sensation of lust, Caleb’s warnings echoed through her mind.
Keep your mouth shut. Do as he tells you.
Kate stifled a low growl.
Easier said than done,
she thought, but at least now her wary sense of self-preservation had returned.

Given that Warrington’s pride seemed even larger than his castle, she suddenly realized it would be folly to dare reject him in front of all his men. Only a fool would give him a reason to punish her.
Don’t make it worse for yourself.

“Parker?” he said in a long-suffering tone.

“Yes, Your Grace. Sorry, sir.” The guard on her right, apparently Parker, took hold of her arm again. “Come along, miss. His Grace has got business to attend to with these fellows.”

Kate suspended her efforts to fight, realizing direct confrontation with such an invincible foe was not going to get her anywhere. She stood a better chance of dashing away from these two guards once they were out of the Beast’s vicinity.

Bide your time. Be patient,
she told herself.

Though she shot a parting glare at the smugglers, she offered no further objections, but let the duke’s black-clad henchmen escort her out of the great hall.

Passing the dais end of the chamber, they exited through the archway beneath the minstrels’ gallery.

At once, the two men shepherded her up a lonely staircase carved of stone. The merest glimmer of starlight shone through the stained glass of the tall, pointed window at the landing where the stairwell turned.

Though her brain was still working slowly, she cast about for a ruse of some sort that would help her slip away from the guards. “I-I need to use the necessary,” she forced out all of a sudden.

“Don’t you get sick on our floors,” the man the duke had addressed as “Parker” warned her sternly. “Hold on, the garderobe’s right up here.”

“Garderobe?” she mumbled.

Reaching the upper floor, they tugged her over to a sort of closet at the end of hallway. Parker took a lantern off a peg on the wall and handed it to her.

“Take this with you. And mind you don’t fall into the moat while you’re at it.” He opened the door to the garderobe for her, but Kate immediately recoiled at the smell—beyond disgusting!

Bringing her hand up to cover her mouth and nose, she shook her head violently, backing away. “Never mind!”

The guards laughed. “That’ll clear your head, won’t it, you little tosspot?” the other one said.

“Ah, leave ’er alone, Wilkins. She can’t help what she is. Come on, you,” Parker muttered. “There’s a chamber pot in the solar if you’re goin’ to puke.”

Actually, Kate had not felt queasy until now, but the horrible stench of the garderobe had temporarily routed all thoughts of escape.

Merely happy that she could breathe again, she paid scant attention as they marched her past the top of the stairs, heading down the upper hallway in the opposite direction.

Before she could summon a second idea for how she might evade them, a roar from the great hall below suddenly echoed up to them, its distant reverberations booming through the minstrels’ gallery on the mezzanine.

“How dare you disobey me? Did I not make myself perfectly clear?”

The terrifying bellow froze Kate in her tracks. Wide-eyed, she looked back slowly toward the stairwell and blanched. She could not make out every thunderous word, but the Beast was clearly giving the smugglers what for.

“Waste my time … bring down this embarrassment on my name? Fools! I should let the hangman have the lot of you!”

The guards exchanged a worried glance, then Parker grumbled at her not to dawdle. Lifting her by her arms, his henchmen sailed her along down the dark hallway, till they came to a massive arched door.

One man opened it; the other thrust her in.

“Off you go, now. Make yourself comfortable.”

Kate stumbled into the solar, then spun around, her heart pounding. “Wait! You can’t leave me here!”

“Sorry, miss. Just following orders. His Grace will be with you shortly.”

“But I don’t—”

They shut the door in her face.

“Hey!”

“Daft chit’s conversin’ with Pharaoh,” she heard Wilkins mutter.

“Aye, well, it’s none of our affair.”

Hearing a key turn in the lock, Kate lurched forward, falling against the door. “Come back! You don’t understand!” She pounded on it. “Please! Mr. Parker! Let me out!”

No answer.

Had they already gone? She knelt quickly and peered with one eye through the keyhole.

There was only darkness. She could hear the businesslike rhythm of the Beast’s two disciplined henchmen marching away.

“Oh, God,” Kate whispered, closing her eyes and leaning her reeling head against the door. Thankfully, the solidity of its hard planks helped to steady the woozy pounding in her brain.

It was then, quite without warning, she noticed the chamber they had brought her to was … wonderfully warm.

Feeling was returning to her cold-numbed feet. She was still shivering, but not so violently now. She opened her eyes, lifted her head, and straightened up by cautious degrees from her spot by the keyhole.

As the sweet thaw spread through her chilled body, she slowly turned and faced the duke’s chamber.

To her uneasy surprise, it was not so bad. It wasn’t a dungeon cell. She could spy no instruments of torture. No dripping pools of blood on the floor, after all.

A cheery fire in the hearth cast a warm glow through the dark-paneled room, making it seem unexpectedly cozy.

The fire entranced her. She was drawn to it instinctively across a thick carpet woven in rich colors. She did not stop until she stood on the warmed slates before the fireplace, sighing with gratitude while the lovely heat seeped up into her through the soles of her icy feet. Warmth
—at last.

Keeping her arms wrapped around herself, she glanced down at the leather armchair set before the fireplace, a luxurious white fur throw strewn across it.

It was more temptation than she could resist.

In the next instant, she was curled up on the armchair, huddled under the fur throw, and telling herself that as soon as she was fully warmed, she would rally her wits and find some way to escape.

The thought of fleeing back out into the bitter winter night made her want to weep. But for now, she would just rest here for a few minutes to regain her strength.

In a moment, she would come up with a plan …

What she did not realize was that the cold had been the only thing keeping her awake. It alone had been warding off the full effects of the laudanum. The warmth that now enveloped her was richly comforting, lulling her senses.

Moments passed … she suddenly jerked awake, having failed to notice herself falling asleep.

Disaster!

Shoving off the fur throw with an angry motion, her heart pounding, she paused for a moment, took a deep, shaky breath, and pondered the ruin that could have befallen her if she had not returned to her senses.

Good God, could she make it any easier on him? Handsome or not, she did not intend to let that man force himself on her tonight. Unsure how much time had passed, she sat up straighter and glanced around for a clock.

Instead, for the first time, she now noticed the giant bed hulking in the deep shadows on the far end of the room.

She stared at it for a long moment: the ornately carved posts of time-blackened wood, the crimson velvet hangings. A chill ran down her spine. It was to be the place of her ruin; even so, she was not immune to its instinctual pull.

The duke’s bed was the picture of warm, luxurious softness, safety: pillows, blankets. All seemed to beckon to her, even from where she sat.

No.
She was not that weak. She turned forward again and shook her head, trying to clear out the cobwebs, even as the laudanum tormented her with the need for sleep.

Ignoring the bed with a will, she sank back into the armchair, drawing the fur throw back around her, still promising herself she’d look for an exit in a moment. But gazing into the fire, its dancing flames soon mesmerized her.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Her mind drifted hopelessly, the drugged swaying of the room summoning childhood memories of those bygone days, the happiest in her life, when she had lived aboard her father’s ship at sea.

With a faint, drugged half smile and a heartbreaking wave of nostalgia at the bright memories, she recalled how Papa used to let her stand at the helm and play the role of his miniature bo’sun. He’d tell her what to say, and she’d repeat his orders, shouting them out to the crew in a high-pitched, child’s voice:
“Ahoy, you lazy buggers! Mind the topsail! Trim the main!”

Strange how the thought of Papa could make her feel safe, even at a time like this.

Too bad he was dead and could not lift a finger to help her. She was on her own.

As usual.

Must get up. I’ve got to get out of here. Hurry. Find a way out. Before he comes …
She tried to rise, but her body felt like lead. The dreamworld had begun to claim her in earnest this time.
One more minute,
begged her fading senses.
I’ll just close my eyes …

 

Rohan Kilburn, the Duke of Warrington, trusted he had made his displeasure clear. The great hall still reverberated with the echoes of his wrath, but damn it, this debacle was a waste of critical time.

As one of the Order’s top assassins, he burned to be back in London hunting the deadly Promethean operative, Dresden Bloodwell, who had been spotted in Town.

Worse, one of the Order’s finest agents had been captured.

As long as Drake remained in enemy hands, all their identities were at risk as members of the ancient warrior brotherhood, the secretive Order of St. Michael the Archangel.

Unfortunately, there was no getting out of this task.

The recent shipwreck had been perpetrated by
his
tenants on
his
stretch of England’s coastline; therefore, it was his problem.

And so, here he was, with instructions from his handler back in London not to return until the smugglers’ ring had been secured.

Lucky for Caleb Doyle and his motley followers, the smugglers still remained a vital conduit for the Order’s secret communications.

For years, the Dukes of Warrington and the local smugglers’ ring had shared a cordial but clandestine symbiosis. Just like his father before him, Rohan kept the village rents low and turned a blind eye to the smugglers’ black market schemes—within reason.

In exchange, old Caleb Doyle, the smugglers’ current chief, made sure that the Order’s coded messages were delivered to various foreign ports as swiftly as the wind could carry them, no questions asked.

The bold and speedy smuggler captains had honed their talents at evading Customs; they were a highly useful resource, considering that the Prometheans had spies watching every port in Europe. The smugglers were able to get in and out of any harbor before the enemy even knew they were there.

The end of the war against Napoleon, however, had lifted the trade tariffs, shutting down the lucrative black market that had been the smugglers’ bread and butter for twenty years. Devil take them, how many times had he warned the fools not to squander the fortune they were raking in while the fat times lasted? To put some gold aside for later? Had they listened?